


You've Got Me Where You Want Me

by pantykinksam



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Sam and Dean go to a music festival, deans just really in love ok, let them be they're soso precious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-13
Updated: 2016-03-13
Packaged: 2018-05-26 09:20:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6233143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pantykinksam/pseuds/pantykinksam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam’s got those glowing northern-lights eyes narrowed in on Dean’s lips, all fluttering lashes and glowing skin in the light of the sun, and Dean finds salvation on his tongue when he leans in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You've Got Me Where You Want Me

Sam is a goddamn menace in lace, and Dean loves him like nothing less. He’s got licked-pink lip glossed lips that Dean drinks down like the richest liquor, and pinup-perfect waves of brown that brush just against his throat. Dean wants to mark him up bad boy style. 

He’s got those glowing northern-lights eyes narrowed in on Dean’s lips, all fluttering lashes and glowing skin in the light of the sun, and Dean finds salvation on Sam’s tongue when he leans in. 

Dean’s boy is dressed in a vibrant kind of yellow that makes his head ache for treasure so he lets his hands slip lower in the heat of the crowd. By the light of the stage, Sam is a cupid-kissed bottle of sunlight, pure and precious and too much to drink in all at once. Dean can afford to take his time. 

He slips the thread of a red balloon around his wrist, tells Sam to stay close, and revels in the way Sam’s belly quivers under his wandering touch. There are daisies in Sam’s hair, and Dean calls him Clementine while they’re dancing to acoustic in the heat of the Summer. 

Sam’s wearing sinfully skin-tight jeans and the guiltiest kind of glow in his cheeks. Dean tightens his grip on that babydoll waist and tells him “wait right here”. 

Dean buys him lemonade just to watch that breathy little gasp leave those lips and wrap themselves virgin-tight and ruthless around the mouth of a bottle. At a booth nearby, Dean picks out a beaded necklace with a pendant as candy-apple as Sam’s eyes, and slips it around Sam’s neck just to pull him into a kiss, lemon-tang and velvet tongue behind Dean’s teeth. 

The sky is a bad girl black by the time they roll out, and Dean laps his way into the cherry-tight silk heat of his brother in the backseat, soft cotton of his shirt left discarded on the floor. He takes what’s his from his fucked out baby and licks cotton candy from sugar-slick lips. He’s hissing “You’ve got me where you want me,” in his ear and makes a home between the ivory flesh of Sam’s trembling thighs until he’s all wrapped up in velvet. Dean thinks he’s found his treasure, and it’s in a devil of a boy named Sam.


End file.
